Define Yourself

[Placeholder 04]

The light of the morning sun made Cyril narrow his eyes in distaste. He would need time to adjust to the sudden lack of darkness. Grumbling a curse under his breath, he watched as Cazoa rolled onto her back and drew back a drink from her water skin. He flashed her a lazy smile and pushed up to his feet, popping his bones where the aches and pains emanated from. Pleasing as Cazoa's presence might have been, there was no enjoying sleeping on a cave floor.

"I slept well. Better than I thought I would," he teased, lacking entirely in Cazoa's embarrassment. He grinned at her.

"Our first landmark is an old temple a few klicks north of here. About four hours on speeder. Walking...three days, perhaps?" Displeasure laced his words. This trip was going to a dangerous, and quite likely boring one. He was not looking forward to wandering through the wastes.

Lost in his thoughts, Cyril shoved his thermal blanket back into his pack and popped open his box of dried meat. He chewed on it thoughtfully as he packed up what little remained of his supplies and pulled back the blanket blocking the entrance. The storm had saturated the land, and the smell of rain and humidity permeated the once dry land. The sands were a bit darker in shade and the sun had not yet reached its apex - from death came life, and the waters had not completely dried up yet.

"It's going to be a long walk," he looked at her from up over his shoulder, "You ready? I can teach you more of the basics on the way."

 

[GreenEve]

- The next three days of their journey had passed without much incident. After the storm, the land had resumed it's dry, scorching climate. The heat had made for slow travel, but the nights spent in caves offered cool relief. They had encountered a few small creatures in the wastes, but both were without injury.

With Cyril's guidance, Cazoa's connection to the force had grown stronger. Through meditation, she had gained a better understanding of its power, which in turn had made it easier to control. In the wastes, she had exercised her ability to sense lifeforms, extending it further and further across the land. If she had found anything dangerous, their course had been altered. Several packs of Tuk'ata had been avoided.

During their journey, Cyril and Cazoa had become closer. Their Master and Apprentice relationship grew stronger, filled with mutual understanding, respect and growing trust. Their discussions during the day had mostly been focused around the force, however, the nights had been a time of personal discussion. These interactions had been filled with flirtatious words and gestures, ever building the curiosity that had been sparked between them upon their first meditative encounter.

-

As per the last few days, by late afternoon, the pair had resumed near silence. Energy levels had been sapped by the seemingly endless trudging through the unbearably hot wasteland. Cazoa was covered head to toe in thick orange dust and grime, and her normally pale skin had tanned.

Their destination loomed on the horizon - a shimmering temple which had been carved into the edge of a mountainous canyon. Much to Cazoa's dismay, travelling through the temple was the only way to reach the sector where Cyril's ship was. Since learning of their route, trepidation and dread had filled her at the thought of another temple. The first she had encountered, had been a medley of traps and beasts who had made the long abandoned chambers their home. She found comfort in the fact that Cyril had made it through without much trouble, and well, Cyril being Cyril greatly improved her chances of coming out on the other side alive and hopefully unscathed.

Cazoa squinted against the sun and glanced over at him. He looked much like herself - his clothes and skin were covered in thick dust. She had grown fond of his company, and found it hard to believe that she had known him for less than a week. It was proving much easier to be around him now that she had been learning of her connection to the force, and how to become one with it, rather than allow it to spin into chaos. The pull to his being still remained, and she was slowly coming to terms with the fact that it would probably never leave her so long as he remained in her life. In the quiet confines of her mind, she questioned the existence of the connection often. During her increased clarity, the pull felt divided into two feelings - one of academic nature and the other something different entirely. And it was the latter she often fretted over.

Soon, the pair were at the foot of what looked to be a hundred sandstone steps, leading up to the entrance. Above them towered two hooded sculptures, guarding the depths of the temple. The gradiosity of the structure had long been worn with erosion, and it's abandon made for an eerie ambience.

Filling herself with the force, Cazoa began to feel for anything lurking in the immediate area. The outside remained empty, save for Cyril and herself, and as she extended her sense to the entrance of the temple, several different sensations came to her. A darkness, like a shadowy entity, seeped from the entrance to meet her probe. It was cold, and reeked of pain and death, but at the same time it was seductively tantalising, beconning her to come forth into its clutches. Since first arriving to the Moon, she had felt it, but it was merely a background noise that one could have associated to such a desolate place. However, now that Cazoa had begun to harness the force, the cold darkness had become significantly amplified.

Cazoa broke the connection abruptly, stopping in her tracks.

'What is that?' she asked, turning to Cyril. Her voice was a mix of intrigue and anxiety. 'I felt something - an energy I have felt constantly in this place - cold, and lifeless. But now, as I call upon the force, it is notably stronger than before, especially near this temple.'

She looked up at the giant structure which was now slowly being encased in shadow by the setting sun.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

The trek had been a tiring one, as Cyril had expected. The journey through here that he had taken in the past had been monotonous, but he'd had his solitude -had the time he'd needed to process things. The former lord of Ession had made some particularly hard decisions that few in the galaxy would ever agree with. At the very least, few knew it was he who had started the brief and all too effective civil war. the coup had been a success; the Dark Lord was dead. The One Sith were in a different sort of state now; while not destroyed, with more even ruling, perhaps they would become a gentler state.

Or perhaps they would descend further into chaos.

At the least, he and his allies had dealt his old enemies a terrible blow, one that would take quite some time to recover from on the civilian level. Sure, the government might have restructured into a moderately successful council, but the people were still shaken. The rebellions had been quelled, or so he had heard, but the fact that they had started to begin with gave him hope.

But then he had no place to really do so. His duty was done, and he was let with naught but his own thoughts and regrets. It was why he had come to this moon - to forget.

And then he'd met Cazoa. The woman had proven pleasant company on their trip, and she seemed receptive to her teachings. No doubt her control of the force had certainly grown in the time they had known one another. In due time, she might even be able to swing a lightsaber without accidentally chopping off a limb in the process.

He wiped some of the dirt and grime from his brow as they came upon the temple. The massive obsidian structure had been ravaged by time, but it still presented n imposing presence. Cyril had turned to speak to Cazoa only to be cut off by her question.

She can sense it.

It took a strong mind to walk close to the Dark Side. Years of training had allowed Cyril to master Vaapad, and then to take up the guise as a Sith Lord to set his plot in motion. He had the training to avoid becoming trapped; Cazoa did not.

"That, my dear," he frowned, "Is the power of the Dark Side. It is a corrupting force, the source of all the galaxy's pain, and it will call to you now and forever." Grumbling a curse under his breath, he stepped toward the temple. "This is a ziggurat devoted to the Sith. It's seething in the Dark Side's power. Be careful not to let it take hold of you Cazoa, or you'll forever lose yourself."

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Cazoa looked up at the temple as they ascended the steps to its entrance. With each one, she was filled with increasing dread and uncertainty. Her interest had been piqued most definitely, and she almost felt the need to experience the sensation once more, but Cyril's warning echoed in her head. Cazoa had managed to survive one temple without succumbing to the Darkness he spoke of, and she thought it best to keep it that way. At least until you desire to be strong, a little voice spoke in her head. It was her own, but with an unnatural edge in its tenor. Cazoa shuddered.

She would have to refrain from calling upon the force with her new found control during their passage through the temple. In her previous experience with such a place, her unconscious call of the force had sufficed in serving her - it would be enough. It was only a days travel through the canyon, and Cazoa had spent four inside the one by the shuttle. And now she had Cyril.

'This place certainly feels unnatural,' she said quietly as they climbed the steps. 'The whole Moon is shrouded in this darkness. How can you stand to be here? How do you keep it from consuming you?'

At the opposite end of the valley, the sun had begin to settle behind the cliffs. The hooded statues looked ever more sinister as the shadows began to engulf them. In the distance, Cazoa heard Tuk'ata howling. There would be no camping outside the temple tonight. One could only hope that it would be safer within.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

The temple's overbearing aura was beginning to make Cyril uncomfortable. He drew his cowl back to reveal his visage as they climbed up the stairs. He had come through this temple before and warded off the specters within via his thunderous signature within the force. He had been an object of fury truly a force of nature moving through the hallowed halls with a scowl.

"I deny it," he replied simply as they passed through the main doors. The ancient obsidian creaked as they slipped open, allowing the duo free passage within. Cyril made a mental note to bar the doors once they found themselves inside. It wouldn't do to have the howling Tuk'ata barging in looking for a meal. The very thought sent a shiver down his spine.

"I've had experiences with it in the past, a great many in fact," he continued on as they traversed into the main chamber, "You just have to learn to deal with it in your own way. That's really all I can tell you."

He gave her an apologetic nod and observed the chamber. It was massive and lit by braziers of endless fire on either side of it. A stage had been uplifted near the end of the room, and dozens of passages broke off along the walls, likely leading to other similar sanctums. This had once been a place of worship, perhaps a rallying point for the ancient Sith.

Cyril frowned.

"The torches are fueled by the force - likely some archaic spell cast millenia ago. Don't go near them." He turned to face her. "How are you feeling?"

 

[GreenEve]

Cazoa followed behind Cyril into the chamber. It was similar to the temple she had set foot in a week ago - burning torches lit the grand entrance chamber, statues were dotted along the walls, creating a pathway to a large stage erected at the back end of the room. The air was much cooler than it was outside in the wasteland, and she was grateful for it, despite the unnatural nature of the place.

Cazoa followed Cyril deeper into the chamber, her hand habitually resting on her pistol. She dared not call upon the force in the way she had been - that would be her temporary solution to deal with the darkness she had felt on the steps. Her natural affinity told her that the chamber posed no immediate threat, and her survival instincts told her to follow Cyril's lead.

Cazoa took a long glance at a torch as they passed it. The other temple had been littered with them too, and she had wondered then why they were constantly lit.

"The torches are fueled by the force - likely some archaic spell cast millenia ago. Don't go near them." Cyril said, following her gaze. He turned to face Cazoa. "How are you feeling?"

'Fine,' she said truthfully. 'I feel the darkness, but in the same intensity that I have always felt it here on the Moon. It's like a faint noise humming in the background, yet if I focus on the force as I did outside, I suspect I will feel it much stronger.'

She frowned as she looked up to the majestically carved ceiling. She doubted the uneasiness wouldn't leave her until they had made it to the other side. Her eyes fell back to Cyril and she studied his face in the soft light.

'And you? How are you feeling?'

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

Cyril did not respond all at once.

His attentions had been stolen by the torches. Blue eyes narrowed as he made his way down the massive structure all while trying to make out the little shapes carved into the walls. He dare not get too close to them, for fear of the flames reacting and the temple coming alive. Still, his curiosity managed to win out against his common sense, and in the end he skirted up close to the walls.

The torches did not react, but he could make out the shapes. The runes were that of the ancient Sith language, one Cyril had not seen in quiet some time. He struggled to make out the message that had been left behind by the temple's curators. His brow furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line, a curse falling from them as the light flickered and obscured his vision.

Then he heard her speak.

"Uncomfortable," he admitted, "These temples are more tombs than holy ground. The blood might have dried, but the spirits of the acolytes killed here linger," he intoned, turning back to face Cazoa. He knew the specters were there, waiting, watching.

Shaking his head, Cyril reached for his lightsaber. He held the weapon firmly in his organic hand and waved her forward down one of the many halls. It was narrow and lacked the torches of the main room - the cyan light of his lightsaber illuminated the darkness.

"We'll find a place to camp, and then we'll get our shebs out of here, sound alright?" He lofted a brow and parted his lips to speak more - the ground opened up beneath him.

Cursing, Cyril doused his lightsaber as he fell. The fall wasn't particularly long, but he fell hard all the same. He managed to pitch a roll to disperse the force of the blow and sprung up to his feet - his body was jarred. He'd found himself in a small square room. A dais glowed before him, and upon it, a familiar triangular shape. A door lay beyond it, sealed tight by a steel latch.

The triangular shape glowed a sickly shade of emerald, "So they come," the voice hissed, "I had felt you across the moon, and had wondered when you would join me."

Cyril blinked.

"The path was a decoy - it was a dead end wasn't it?" he scowled, "Cazoa?" He whirled about toward his companion.

The triangle upon the dais spoke once again. "I have been so terribly lonely. It has been centuries since anyone has spoken to me - and who are you?"

A green mist began to fill the room. Cyril held his breath on instinct, but the pervasive gas had already filled his nostrils. He began to grow weary.

"A self-justified traitor, and...what are you now girl?"

The fallen Jedi reached out to his friend, only for the darkness to take him.

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Cazoa watched as the man moved along the walls, looking at the ancient carvings etched into the stone. What was he looking for? She inched closer to him, trying to see what he did.

"Uncomfortable," he admitted, as he studied the wall. "These temples are more tombs than holy ground. The blood might have dried, but the spirits of the acolytes killed here linger.'' Cyril turned to face her.

Cazoa felt knots of unease twist in her stomach as she saw his expression - he looked troubled and his aura reflected it.

'Well, let's get going,' she pressed, glancing at the stone wall behind Cyril.

He pulled his lightsaber from his belt and guided Cazoa to one of the many hallways leading off of the main chamber. It was dark and narrow, but the cyan glow of his blade illuminated the walls. Cazoa drew one of her pistols and gripped it firmly at her side. She followed closely to Cyril, listening for any footsteps other than their own echoing on the stone walls.

"We'll find a place to camp, and then we'll get our shebs out of here, sound alright?" Cyril said over his shoulder.

She nodded in agreement, then suddenly, her feet gave way. It took her a second to realise that she was falling. Instinctively, she tried to break the fall, but her fingers grabbed at nothing but the air. As abruptly as she had fallen, she hit the ground on her side with a thud. Cazoa winced at the pain in her ribs and forced herself to stand. She pulled her second pistol from her belt and gripped it out in front of her. Cyril had landed a few seconds before and was now standing several feet in front, the cyan glow of his lightsaber illuminating the small room. Dust caked the floors, and the air was old and musky.

Cazoa etched closer to him and as she did, an unfamiliar voice hissed out through the darkness.

"So they come...I had felt you across the moon, and had wondered when you would join me."

The voice made her feel sick, and the cold darkness that she had felt outside of the temple returned to her, seeping up her limbs and into her core. She tried her best to keep it at bay.

"The path was a decoy - it was a dead end wasn't it?" Cyril scowled. Who was he shouting at? She could see nobody else.

"Cazoa?" Cyril whirled about to find her. She stepped to to him, standing just behind his shoulder. Over it, she could see an illuminated dias, but there was nobody upon it.

The voice hissed at them again.

"I have been so terribly lonely. It has been centuries since anyone has spoken to me - and who are you?"

To Cazoa's horror, a green mist began to fill the room. It slunk across the floor, then began to rise, looking to coil itself around the pair. Cazoa grabbed Cyril's clothes and tried to pull him back but her efforts were fruitless - he slumped to his knees, and then fell to his side as if he were paralysed. His eyes watched Cazoa as she too succumbed to the sickeningly sweet gas.

"A self-justified traitor, and...what are you now girl?"

Panic welled inside of her.

'Cyril,' she croaked. And then everything turned cold and black.

When Cazoa opened her eyes again, she was standing in an office full of people. On the left stood two men clad in mercenary gear with their backs turned to her. And cowered against the wall opposite stood an old man and a frightened young girl.

Cazoa gasped - was this a memory? The girl was a younger version of herself, and the man next to her Cazoa recognised as her old Master, Elbie. Nobody turned to look at her as she moved to the side of the desk to look at the faces of the two mercenaries. Her suspicions were confirmed - one of the men was Balzo Garris, her adoptive father, and the other was his right hand man, Dev. This was indeed a memory.

'Open the safe,' Balzo commanded calmly.

'No!' came Elbies voice.

Cazoa watched the horror sprawl across the face of her fifteen-year-old self as Balzo raised his blaster and pointed it directly at Elbie's head.

'Open it!' her father bellowed. 'I've no problem blowing your brains out old man!'

Cazoa watched as the horror on her young face turned into a scowl of immense anger and hatred. The girl moved protectively over Elbie, and then, the blaster flew from Balzo's hand and crashed against the wall. This had been the first definitive moment in Cazoa's life where she had learnt that she was different from everyone else - the first true manifestation of her connection to the force.

The figures of her memory began to dissipate as a shocked Dev bound the young girl with his arms. Cazoa looked around the office, and noticed that Cyril had been standing behind her. Cyril was here too? What was going on?

As she stepped to him, the office went black.

When she surfaced from the cold darkness again, she was outside, in a hot desert. Two sun's were setting, behind a large dune. She knew exactly what day this memory belonged to - it was the evening of her crew's massacre during a jewel heist gone wrong. Before her, sprawled in a bloody mess on the orange sand, were the crew. Their bodies were charred with blaster burns, some had been decapitated, others had limbs missing. The sight was gruesome. To her right, she saw Balzo, laying in the sand, gurgling blood, helplessly trying to hold on to his life. The image filled her with immense sadness. Cazoa rushed to comfort him, but as she did, another version of herself swooped down and cradled his head in her arms. Cazoa fell to her knees, overcome with painful emotion, and watched the memory she had tried so hard to forget unfurl.

'Balzo!' her memory-self cried. 'Balzo? Balzo, what happened?' Blood dribbled down the side of his face, onto her hands.

'Raiders,' he choked.

Cazoa's memory-self looked around, searching for any hidden danger on the dunes.

'Long gone,' gurgled Balzo. 'Listen love...don't think I'm gonna...get out...out of this one.' It grew harder for him to speak.

'Don't say that,' Cazoa's memory-self pleaded. 'If we get you back to the ship, I can patch you up.'

She looked down at Balzo's chest wound. Cazoa knew that he wouldn't make it - she could feel his energy depleting by the second.

'You take...the ship,' Balzo coughed, more blood seeped onto his lips. 'Sazzy, listen...to me. Galaxy is...dangerous...place. Hide your...self. Don't let anyone....see.' He groaned in agony.

With the last of his energy, Balzo dragged his hand up to Cazoa's and pushed a crystal into her palm. It was a beautiful thing, amethyst in colour, with specks of star-like lights glowing in its core.

'You...' he struggled. 'You are the...rarest...most valuable...jewel...I have...ever found...my...my...my daughter.'

With a final huff of air, Balzo's life left his body. Cazoa watched as her memory self began to sob, clutching Balzo's head in her arms. She remembered how devastated she had felt in that moment - her only family, ripped away from her, leaving her in a devastatingly lonely, hollow pit, one she had felt for so long as a child. In that moment, all the happiness she had ever felt drained away from her, and in its place resided anger and hatred for an unloving Galaxy.

As she watched, Cazoa felt tears on her cheeks. Slowly, the figures of her memory began to fade as they had done in the office. She stood, and searched for Cyril with tears in her eyes. He was there, standing behind her. She stepped to him but everything plummeted into darkness once again. After a moment, the interior of a ship slowly came into focus.

It was Balzo's ship, but a memory of Cazoa sat in the captain's chair. The cockpit was a mess - empty liquor bottles littered the floor and cigarette packets lined the dashboard. Cazoa was speaking over the radio, slurring her words.

'Okay, that's promising, I'll punch in the coordinates.' Her fingers moved sloppily across the dashboard.

This memory had taken place after Balzo had died and Cazoa had been searching for his long lost wife. A contact of hers had given her the location of a small band of raiders that had purchased slaves nearly fifteen years prior from a man named Dago in Hutt space. It had been highly unlikely that these were the men who had taken Balzo's wife, but Cazoa needed something to do other than sit around loathing herself, and failing to patch her wounds with alcohol and cigarettes. For months her existence had been one of hate, loneliness, disgust, and despair.

The memory faded once again into nothingness butCazoa knew what was coming next, and her stomach flipped uncomfortably.

A large, dimly lit room came into focus. Cazoa could see herself, standing in front of five men. They were the remnants of a once profitable band of raiders, torn apart by greed and addiction.

'Listen, listen,' her memory said bewitchingly. 'I know you've got a whole bunch of slaves in that room over there. And all I'm saying is that I need to check them. If I don't see the woman I'm looking for, I'll leave, no issues.'

Cazoa remembered herself exuberating seduction, replaying the phrase 'you want to help me' over and over in her mind. The raiders were weak, and what came next had proven it. The ringleader eyed her up and down, decided she was no threat, and stepped to the door and released the latch. Cazoa could still remember the smell of human excrement. Before her sat three women and two young girls huddled together in a corner of a cold, dark room. They looked up at her with eyes full of fear. Cazoa felt sickened.

The anger she had felt for so long reached a peak in that moment. Seeing the women mistreated that way disgusted her. And in turn, she grabbed the ringleader's head and smacked it on the doorframe. He fell to an unconscious heap on the floor. Commotion erupted in the room - the other four, drugged up raiders lunged for their weapons, but Cazoa had been faster. Her pistol fired into one of them, searing through his eye socket. She bent down and grabbed a large sword-like blade the leader had been carrying, and lunged with fury towards the nearest raider. She plunged the sword into his chest and spat on his face as he shrivelled to the floor. Cazoa's blaster fired to the left, shooting the remaining men in the kneecaps. She shot one in the chest to bleed out alone in excruciating pain, and the other she decapitated.

It unnerved Cazoa to watch herself act so ruthless, shrouded in hate and anger. It had been another memory that she had buried, fearing who she had became that day. Cazoa watched her memory-self return to the women and children, beckoning them to come forth from the room. They stood and began to slowly emerge from their dark prison.

'You're free now,' Cazoa said. 'My speeder is outside - take it.'

None of the women were Balzo's wife. Cazoa watched the women and children rush to the door, small smiles on their dirty faces. She turned back to her memory, who was now dragging the unconscious ringleader into the room the slaves had been in. She locked him in there, with the intention of leaving him to starve to death. The memory began to fade out.

Cazoa turned to Cyril, a myriad of emotions on her face. She felt disgusted in herself, truly shocked at just how monstrous she had looked. Then, she remembered the smiles of the slave children, free to make their own way in the Galaxy. They reminded her of when she had resided in a prison-like orphanage. As she stepped towards Cyril, her face begged for forgiveness, but before she could reach him, they were consumed in the darkness once more.

Cazoa was happy to leave the memory behind but she braced herself for another dreadful vision, yet for a long time only darkness came. It felt like she was falling through a black vortex with streaks of light whirling around her. Suddenly, her feet found the floor. She opened her eyes. An unfamiliar place poured into view - but she did not recognise it as one of her own memories.

The only thing she recognised was Cyril, who stood motionless, several feet in front of her.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

Cyril was, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner in Cazoa's mind. He stood a pace or so behind her and watched as her world became his, but he could do nothing. When he parted his lips, his words did not come forth. When he tried to move, his limbs remained locked in place. Even his connection to the force felt suppressed - try as he might, he could not pull himself free from the illusion.

The scene changed, and he watched a younger Cazoa wrench a blaster from an older man's hands. He watched as she was dragged away by the man's lackeys to the force knew where. A knot began to form in his stomach. Again, he tried to speak, and again he found himself strangled. Cazoa looked back and stepped toward him, but once again the vision changed.

They stood amidst a sea of sandy dunes. Before them lay a massacre: bodies were strewn about, limbs ripped from torsos, entrails and blood stained the golden sand. The few men and women that drew breath only did so barely. They had very little time left in this world. Then there was Cazoa, or rather, the younger Cazoa. The one that he knew watched from a distance looking all-too-horrified.

She spoke to one of the dying man. They were too far away for Cyril to really make out the words, but he understood what had happened all the same. Someone or something had torn through their little gang, and not a soul was going to survive. The Cazoa that Cyril knew turned to face him, tears welling up in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. She took a step, and the sand swallowed her whole.

Disoriented, Cyril grimaced as he found himself in the hold of some sort of ship. He saw Cazoa slumped over some kind of control board mumbling to someone on the other end of the line about a lead. He recognized the sound of intoxication all too well.

Then the scene changed.

They found themselves within a dingy little room. The men she had surrounded herself with were malcontents - the kind of pirates Cyril had often had to deal with when defending Ession's trade ships. The knot within his gut tightened. A moment later and they were conversing - something about slaves - and then Cazoa was allowed inside.

The women were kept in a cage. Cyril could not smell the room, but the sight of it was enough to convey the detritus the captives had been living in. Then, all at once, Cazoa turned on the men. With cold precision she ended the closest man's live, and the others swiftly followed. The bodies fell, and the slave women were freed.

Cyril hadn't expected Cazoa to have that kind of side to her.

And then, once again, the world became nothingness.

"A little slave taking her revenge on the world," the ethereal voice hissed, "Far more interesting than I expected. Perhaps we will keep you," the voice chuckled, "And now the traitor..."

The familiar heat of Gratos' sun threatened to blister Cyril's skin. He stood upon one of the great ziggurat within the holy caste's great forest. The structure was so tall that it might have touched the clouds themselves. Around him, six Graug, massive scaly aliens born of Sith alchemy, knelt before larger figure of the Graug warchief - Krag, better known as Darth Vulcanus. The former ruler of the Graug overlord stared down at his followers with cold black eyes and shook his cloaked head. In his hands lay his legendary war-blade, said to have the power to destroy the souls of those it struck down.

Before him lay the bodies of two humans boys who had just begun to come of age. Their heads sat upright a few feet in front of them, as was the custom for rejects. A third boy sat alongside them, clad in the black dueling leathers of his station. The boy had a mess of black hair and bright amber eyes, with broad shoulders that indicated he might one day grow to be larger man.

"You would serve, slave?" Vulcanus rumbled.

Graxin bowed, nodded his head, and pressed his lips to the bloodied stone beneath him. The massive Graug rumbled with quiet laughter. "So you shall. Come slave, we've much to do."

Trembling in awe of his lord, Graxin rose to his feet. "As you wish father."

The vision shifted. Cyril cursed his own thoughts.

A much older version of the boy stood over a comm station on the bridge of a massive Star Destroyer. Dozens of smaller ships orbited around the vessel, and a sea of broken vessels floated in the atmosphere of the planet below.

Cyril recalled how proud he had been when his father had given him command of the 7th Royal Fleet. At his command, the fleet had slaughtered the Telos defense emplacements, and he'd destroyed the shield generator personally once the ground assault had commenced. With the planetary shield gone, he had returned to the Star Destroyer and ordered the ships turbolasers turned on the planet.

A young woman strode up to him. She was all legs and tousled hair, her messy clothing a stark contrast to the clean aestetic of the imperials. She couldn't have been older than sixteen.

"Graxin," she frowned, "You already won. You don't need to do this."

The boy scowled, "Father has demanded an example be made of this world. I can't just ignore his orders."

The girl took a hold of his arm, "This isn't ri-" The boy shook her away and with renewed conviction, turned to one of his officers. "Burn the world. Scour it clean. We have to contain the infection, and Telos can't be allowed to recover."

Cyril drew his arms about himself and watched as the imperial fleet ripped Telos asunder. The atmosphere burned and entire cities was leveled. The seas evaporated under the intense nuclear heat. Those few settlements that were left untouched were soon subjected to the suffocating smoke clouds kicked up by the high-energy impacts.

Telos had burned. The casualty count had numbered in the billions.

Cyril did not have any choice in the matter; the fleet would have destroyed the world anyway. And still, the planet's death had been his order in the end. He did not dare look back toward Cazoa, and the shifting vision allowed him that momentary respite.

Twenty years old, Graxin Rade stood before the the Royal Court. He was clad in the robes of a Jedi, though he wore them with shame. A woman that resembled himself was seated upon the great throne at the end of the room, a warm smile on her face. With a wave of her hand, the court dispersed, leaving herself and Graxin alone in the room.

She jumped up to her feet then, crossing the room and throwing her arms around the boy. Graxin returned the gesture, holding the woman impossibly close, clinging to her as tears fell down his face.

"My boy," his mother had gasped, "We thought you'd died."

Graxin shivered, "Close to it mom, close to it."

Cyril's arms fell down to his sides. He recalled returning to his mother's side once the Empire had fallen apart - once he had finally found freedom. In her, he had found family, and then redemption. The thought filled him with a momentary joy.

And then the scene, once again, changed. Cyril turned to face Cazoa this time, but he could barely make out her figure amidst the darkness. Instead, he found himself standing ankle-deep in sea water. The sounds of battle raged around him. Bodies littered the beachhead and warriors continued to tear into one another with blaster, lightsaber, claws, and teeth.

This was the battle of Kashyyyk, the place where he'd lost it all.

He saw himself, twenty-six now, clad in the traditional armor of the Ession Lords. His lightsaber was held firmly in his hands, and across from him stood Silara, better known as Darth Vitium. The two had been rivals for a time, and Cyril had found himself enamored in her, and she in him. It had been an unhealthy love, one of obsession, one in which each though they could save the other.

Cyril cringed as Silara spoke.

"You can be mine," her voice thrummed with power, distorted by the monstrous wake of the black aura around her, "We could rule, you and I, come with me!" She lowered her weapons and strode toward him, her lightsabers held at her sides.

Cyril watched his younger self wade through the waters. How sure he had been that he could save her. How happy he had been at the prospect of her loving him. And yet, how conflicted his Jedi teachings had made him.

He strode up to her, promising to save her. His arms had laced around her waist. She whispered something to him, and then the world exploded. Lightning struck out from her fingertips, and he barely managed to break away and dodge. The sand beneath his feet turned to glass and cut deep into his legs. A triangle of pure arcane power flew toward him, slamming into his right arm and tearing it away at the shoulder.

In desperation, he'd flung his lightsaber at her. Somehow it managed to hit the mark. He watched her fall forward, watched the light leave her beautiful face...

The vision ended.

"There's so much more," the ethereal voice whispered, "And I will look later."

Green mist surrounded Cyril's form in the shadowy realm. And then, all at once, his eyes flung open. He lay flat on his back in the chamber they had been left in, the doors now wide open. With a sigh, Cyril rose to his feet, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Go on," the voice spoke, "Explore my domain."

Cursing his luck, Cyril turned toward Cazoa. Was she alright?

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

This memory had belonged to Cyril - a much younger version of himself sat upon a huge ziggurat towering towards the sky. Next to him were the bodies of two boys, and stood surrounding them, were six scaly looking aliens. Cazoa watched, unable to move or speak, as a chiefly looking man spoke to the young Cyril. She heard the boy call him his father. To Cazoa, it looked like an initiation.

The vision shifted then, and Cazoa was plunged into darkness. She heard the noises of a ship before she saw it. Slowly the bridge trickled into view, bustling with people going about their duties. Beyond, Cazoa saw a sea of destroyed starships, their wreckages tumbling through space. She watched with wide eyes as a young Cyril gave the orders to destroy a planet. A whole planet? Gone? By his orders?

The memory faded once more, this time into a grand hall. The tapestries and bouquets were beautiful, and as Cazoa looked around the room, it was evident that the place belonged to royalty. Before the throne, stood Cyril, a little older and clad in robes. Cazoa remembered the tale Cyril had told her about his mother ruling Naboo for a time. A woman stepped down from her throne and embraced him. It was an intimate moment to watch, especially after the hardness of the previous memory. Cyril clung to his mother.

The court faded from view, just as Cyril had turned to her. Cazoa wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort him,but they were strewn into a battlefield. Chaos was everywhere - bodies seeped blood into the seawater, turning it from a beautiful blue into a dark crimson. Blaster shots lit up the sky, and screams filled the air as men met their death. Cazoa saw the memory of Cyril, dressed in heavy armor, his cyan lightsaber firmly in his hands. In front of him stood a beautiful woman. A back aura burned around her as she called out to him. Cyril went to her, and wrapped his hands around her waist. Had they been lovers? The woman whispered something into his ear and then Cazoa watched in horror as lightning erupted from her fingertips, searing towards Cyril. His arm tore from his shoulder. Cazoa turned her head sharply to look away, as pain filled her to watch such a thing. When she looked back, Cyril's lightsaber had been plummeted through the woman's chest.

Then darkness came. A voice hissed in the black void.

"There's so much more...and I shall look later."

Slowly the heaviness of Cazoa's limbs returned. She could feel the dust tickling her nose, and the dull pain in her bruised ribs. Slowly her grey eyes opened. The dark, long forgotten room came into view. The green mist had dissipated but it's effects lingered - she felt rooted to the spot in which she lay, and her mind felt disorientated.

'Ugh,' she breathed into the dust. She grimaced and began to lift her heavy limbs so that she could stand. With a push, she clambered to her feet.

Cyril had awoken, and he turned to Cazoa. She suspected her expression mirrored his own - a mixture of confusion, pain and apprehension.

She had no words for him. What could she say? They had both witnessed horrific past events, stirring emotions that they had hoped to bury for the rest of their days. Cazoa could do nothing but stare back into his blue eyes.

"Go on," the voice hissed behind them. "Explore my domain."

The sound of a latch clicked, and the heavy stone door that was next to the dias, creaked open offering the only escape from the dusty room.

Cazoa broke their stare and bent down to retrieve her pistols. She doubted such weapons would be of any use against whatever this voice belonged to. One of the ancient spirits, no doubt, testing their resolve. One of the mercenaries she had travelled with to the other temple had warned her of such things, and she could only hope that it had had its fun.

The cyan glow of Cyril's lightsaber once again illuminated the way to the stone door. They stepped through a short hallway and then emerged into another grand chamber.

Like the entrance hall, it was lit by torches burning eternally on its walls. It was vast, and empty save for several thick pillars and in the middle, rested a lone sarcophagus. Cazoa could see no doorways offering escape from the crypt. They were trapped.

She scowled, anger and panic bubbling inside of her. She moved along the walls, searching for an opening.

'Let us out!' her voice echoed. 'Enough of these games!'

A cackle erupted through the crypt.

'Oh, but your company is such a delight!...perhaps you will stay with me here, in my eternal resting place?'

The voice cackled once more.

'Why don't we see just what your futures hold hmm?'

Suddenly, the torches turned to green. They burned high, and then abruptly went out, plunging the pair into darkness. Cazoa drew close to Cyril, she felt the warmth of his body. She called upon the force, trying to detect any movement in the blackness, but it was met with suppression. Panic filled her.

Then she saw a ball of light in the distance. It moved rapidly towards them, expanding, and soon, it engulfed them in a blinding white light. Cazoa squeezed her eyes shut and pressed into Cyril's shoulder. Then, she heard birds singing...the sound of water...a warm breeze sweeping across grass. Cazoa opened her eyes.

They were stood on a grassy bank of a waterhole, which had been carved by a huge waterfall. The comfortably warm air smelt of blossom, and the sky was a magnificent blue. Bright blue birds dipped in and out of the water, singing delicate songs. Another vision? She watched the birds for a moment, and then something else caught her eye. Two people stood embraced in the water.

'Is that - ', she whispered to Cyril.

Her eyes widened as her mind registered that it was Cyril, and herself. The two visions kissed passionately, and then broke apart, laughing. Water splashed and playful squeals filled the air as Cyril chased Cazoa through the water, trying to catch her in his arms.

'Lovers,' hissed a voice, startling Cazoa from the vision. 'Innevitable. Both of your paths begin this way...'

The blinding light consumed Cazoa's vision again, and she shut her eyes tightly against it. After a moment, sounds of commotion filled her ears - the familiar hum of lightsabers, and a man speaking.

'I have searched for you...Darth Mephirium.' Cazoa opened her eyes. Cyril and Cazoa stood in a large courtyard, surrounded by three others that she did not recognise. Each, including herself, had a lightsaber drawn.

'You can no longer elude the Dark Side,' the man said again. He was tall, and his eyes shone red. 'You leave us without an emperor, falsely leading us into broken promises. Now the Sith scramble amongst themselves. I am here to deliver you your fate, traitor.'

The man lunged for Cyril, and Cazoa watched herself lunge for one of the other Sith. Her amethyst lightsaber met his red, and they began a duel. She watched herself dance around the courtyard with strength and precision. The duel went on, and eventually, the Sith unravelled several moves that made Cazoa falter. Just when she thought that it would be her end, she watched herself close her eyes briefly and raise her hand. A piece of the building surrounding the courtyard began to crumble, and showered the Sith in rocks and dust. Cazoa then swivelled on her feet and with one swift slice, her lightsaber burned through the neck of her assailant.

Cyril's vision-self had ended the other two - they were crumpled on the floor in a burning mess.

The voice cackled once more.

'You grow strong, girl, as you aid your lover with his feeble attempts to redeem his betrayal. Will he succeed?'

The blinding light seared Cazoa's eyes, and when she opened them, a bedroom trickled into view. It was a beautiful room, white and airy. The sun shone through floor length windows that were draped in soft netting, flowing in a breeze. Upon the bed lay Cyril and Cazoa, her head rested on his bare chest. She heard hurried footsteps drawing closer in the hallway, and then, the door swung open.

Cazoa expected more Sith to come pouring in, looking to kill the pair in their sleep, but nothing could prepare her for what came. Two, dark haired children ran to the bed, laughing as they lept onto Cyril and Cazoa.

'Mummy! Daddy!' cried a little boy and girl in unison. They looked no older than six and seven. They perched themselves in between Cyril and Cazoa, and the boy spoke. 'Daddy, wake up! You said we can make the toys fly again!'

The toys fly again? Telekinesis? The children were force sensitive?

Cazoa held her breath in shock. She dared not look at Cyril's face. She knew that it was a vision, but it looked so real. Was this the life truly destined for her? She wondered for a moment - if this was all true, then that would mean this spirit or whatever it was, held no true power over them and would not be able to keep them here in its crypt. Perhaps there was a way out after all.

'Oh how delightful,' the voice hissed. 'But, let me show you another path. One that will allow you to leave my resting place, should you be so wise to choose it...'

The vision before her became engulfed in the light. She heard the sounds of the waterfall again, followed by birdsong, and splashes met with playful cries. It sounded speeded up, as though it was being fast forwarded and the light behind her eyelids remained. The sounds whirled past, and then after a moment, the light began to fade. Cazoa opened her eyes to a new vision. One that was tainted by the darkness.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

With obvious apprehension, Cyril strode through the doors.

He grumbled a low curse as they found themselves in yet another blocked room. There was naught but a sarcophagus in the center of the room ad a few runes carved into the walls on either side. It seemed they would have to continue playing the specter's game if they ever wished to make their way out of the accursed temple. Perhaps Cyril could reach out with the force and find the door?

Just as he attempted to do so, his reality sunk away. Once again, he had been plunged into the dream world against his world. Once again, he could not move, nor could he speak. He could only watch as the vision unfolded.

He could hear the sound of water and...people laughing? What was that? His gaze fell to the young couple milling about beneath a massive waterfall. At first he did not recognize them, but then - me?

The two were ambushed by a few men in dark cloaks wielding crimson blades. He and the woman - Cazoa, as far as he could tell - dispatched the aggressors well enough. He watched their victory, and continued to watch as the vision shifted once more.

They lay in relative peace in the early morning hours. It seemed that the two were slumbering until the sound of small feet meandering across the floor could be heard. A moment later, and Cyril's hunch was confirmed. The children bounced excitedly around what could only be their parents; both himself and Cazoa. One of the children spoke of lifting toys - they were force sensitives then.

It was all very surreal.

Cyril had been caught up in visions such as this to know that nothing was set in stone. This was a possibility, one that would likely follow if he and Cazoa pursued a relationship. He was still trying to decide how he felt about that when the world fell away.

In place of happy children and a house of love, a black citadel arose. The world upon which it had been erected had been ripped apart by an unspeakable war, one that had shaken the galactic core to its very bones. Within that citadel, Mephirium sat, his visage one of cold dispassion. Warriors of the old Sith stood on either side of his obsidian throne, heads bowed in reverence. The fires of war burned in their hearts; the promises of conquest heady on their tongues. They simply awaited the order - one that Mephirium was delighting in withholding.

Alongside him was his consort and wife. The woman had grown in her years. The Dark Side swirled around her as if she were a nexus herself - her powers over sorcery were renowned and feared by those that had sworn themselves to her. She was, by all accounts, Mephirium's equal, though he would always retain the old pecking order for posterity's sake.

Cyril watched with disdain as one of their lessers strode up to the twin thrones. The young woman dropped to a knee.

"Ession has been prepared, mother, father," he girl smiled, "Our seers have predicted little resistance."

Mephirium shook his head. "Do not trust the words of soothsayers, daughter. They twist their words to gain favor."

The girl nodded her head eagerly and rose up to her feet. She looked to her mother for some sense of approval, only for the world to shift once more.

Cyril chewed down on his lower lip. Such a future would have been brought about had he continued to follow the dark path - something he had avoided after the Dark Lord had fallen. What if Cazoa chose such a path for herself? His gaze slipped over to her, just as the world coalesced into being.

Mephirium, Cazoa, their daughter, and a young man stood atop the the old Jedi Temple on Ession. Runes had been marked along the floor and glowed faint shades of green and blue. Mephirium inspected each of the lines, scowled, and fixed small mistakes in the designs when he saw them. The daughter looked all-too-nervous. The man - judging by his looks, the son - was stoic.

"What will these even do, dad?" The boy inquired. Mephirium rose up from one of the Runes and met his progeny's gaze. "Your mother and I must ascend to keep the Empire alive. This spell should allow us to do so?"

"But how?" The daughter blustered.

"Your mother is the greatest sorceress in the galaxy, love," Mephirium smiled, "You need not worry. This world has worshiped us for a great may years. They are far too happy to die for the cause."

With that said, the two elder Sith Lords began speaking the proper incantations. Cyril watched in horror as the Runes began to glow vibrantly, blindingly even. So much so that he had to look away - only to feel a billion deaths all at once.

The vision faded.

Cyril found himself standing in the crypt once more a pace or so away from Cazoa. He braced himself against one of the walls, grimacing. A doorway had been wretched open by ethereal means across the room.

"Will you serve?" The voice hissed.

Cyril furrowed his brow, "Not a chance."

The voice tssked. "A shame. Still, this has been entertaining. The door will lead you to the main sanctum. I've left you a gift as well."

And then there was silence. Cyril turned his attentions to Cazoa, concern lacing his words. "You okay?"

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Was she okay? Cazoa had just witnessed two possible versions of her future, and in the latter she had barely recognised herself. It was clear that the woman seated upon a throne next to Cyril had been overtaken by the darkness which he had warned her of today. Would she become this woman with dark eyes, and even darker intentions? How could she have subjected those sweet children of the first vision to such corruption? Cyril had called her the most powerful sorceress in the Galaxy - how different a life compared to what she had intended for herself. The power gently tugged at her.

'I'm fine,' she lied, finally meeting Cyril's gaze. Her voice was hard. 'Let's get out of here.'

Cazoa fought the shake in her legs and proceeded to march across the chamber to the wall that had opened. She felt sick as she passed the sarcophagus.

The next chamber was much like the last - torches lined the vast room, and once again, there were no visible doorways in sight. Four, tall, wrought iron candle pillars illuminated a stone podium in the centre of the room. There appeared to be something resting on its surface, but before Cazoa could get closer to see, the opening in the stone wall closed abruptly behind them.

The voice rang out across the chamber, freezing her in place.

'Ah, the final task of my amusement,' it hissed. 'As promised - a gift. One that will aid you, girl, to continue my reign of Darkness!' the voice cackled, bouncing between the stone walls.

'I sense the power that you crave! Even you, traitor! I can feel the Dark Side of the force still inside of you! It longs for you to set it free, to allow it once more to fill your body with true, unprecedented POWER!'

The walls began to vibrate. Dust fell from the ceiling. The voice grew with dominance.

'First, you must prove that you are worthy of your freedom; defeat my guard, defeat me, and I shall allow you to leave with my gift. If you fail, prepare to spend eternity in my tomb!'

With a final cackle, white, translucent figures began to emerge from the wall opposite. They were ancient, belonging to a long forgotten era. There were six altogether, each dressed in a floor length robe, and wielding a translucent iron sword. Behind them, lingered a hooded spirit. It was larger than it's guard, dressed in ornate robes. In it's white hands was a ghostly lightsaber. It began to pace the back wall, laughing in madness, as it sent forth it's guard to meet Cyril and Cazoa.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

He could hear the trembling in her voice. Cazoa was not fine, and in truth, neither was he. When the voice spoke, he instinctively stepped closer to her, placing a gentle hand over her forearm. It was a simple reminder that he was here, and she was not alone in this trial.

"It hasn't tried to kill us yet, so things might go well," he whispered with the barest hint of optimism. He affixed her with a reassuring smile, though it quickly faded once they arrived in the next room.

Cyril was no fool.

He knew what kind of gifts Sith left for their would-be acolytes. All that they have required steep prices in return. His gaze fell to the figures that had coalesced at the end of the room. He grimaced.

There was the price.

When the voice spoke, Cyril ignited his blade. The ethereal warriors came charging, swords raised. Cursing their luck, the folder Jedi Master held out a hand. A wall of telekinetic energy sprung forth from his fingertips, making all the figure fall back. Some crashed violently against the walls, others simply stumbled. A moment later and his blade had crashed against that of one of the beings. He parried the strike with practiced ease, holding his weapon close to his body to exercise the smallest amount of energy possible.

Four of the Warriors came for him. The two others circled about, waiting for their chance to pounce.

"I have them, use the guns!" Cyril shouted over the sound of plasma and steel clashing.

He reached out to Cazoa in the force, urging her onward.

They'd been through too die here.

 

[GreenEve]

Cazoa raised her two pistols out in front of her, ready to fire into the ghastly beings. If one thing was for certain, then it was most definitely her accuracy with a blaster. She watched the spirits charging forth, her sharp eyes picking out a target. They came swiftly, almost gliding across the stone floor. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Cyril ignite his lightsaber and raise a hand. She felt a ripple of the force crash into the beings, causing them to falter. Cyril lurched forward and commenced the battle, his lightsaber colliding with an iron sword. Four of the spirits surrounded him.

"I have them, use the guns!" Cyril shouted.

Then Cazoa felt it, a pull in the force. She immediately filled herself with its power, letting it circle through her limbs, and allowing it to heighten her senses. She let anger fuel her - anger for their capture, retaliation of their seemingly doomed fate, and determination to escape. It made her feel stronger than she had ever felt.

The two circling would be her targets. Blasters drawn, she guided the grips to the first being and aimed at its chest. Crimson shots fired into the hollow of its neck, causing it to shriek hideously. It faltered for a moment, but did not fall. Instead, it growled, and began to advance on Cazoa with its sword raised above its head. She fired again at its chest, but once more it did not fall; the shots only seemed to spur it on. The being drew closer to Cazoa, increasing the chances of a headshot. She aimed again, and fired, sending a crimson shot burning into its skull. This time, it fell. The unnatural body slinked to the floor, a piercing shriek echoing through the chamber. Then its body dissipated into nothingness.

The second being began to run at her from the right. The speed in which it moved was frighteningly quick, and Cazoa only had a brief moment to send shots flying at it before it swung it's sword at her. She ducked and the iron blade crashed into the stone floor. She side stepped to the left and began to lay shots into its translucent body. It regained itself despite her efforts and began to dash for her once more with unrelenting speed. Cazoa let the force guide her. She began to run for the centre of the room where the podium lay. She could sense the being gaining on her. Panic did not come, instead heightened senses guided her to dash partway up one of the large pillars holding the ceiling, and then, she fell back on herself into an elegant flip. She landed her feet onto the floor, and raised her pistols. The being flung it's sword into the pillar where her body had been, shrieking in anger at her escape. Cazoa raised her pistols and fired into the back of its head and neck. It dissipated into nothingness.

Cazoa whirled around to see Cyril fighting off the four remaining spirits. She returned the pistols to their holsters, and in their place, she grabbed one of the wrought iron candle pillars. It was easily her height, and heavy, but the force flowed through her strengthening her limbs, and determination drove her forward. She watched as Cyril somehow kept one of the beings at bay, no doubt by the force. In several swift paces, she made her way to the battle, swung back the candle pillar and smacked it into the side of the suppressed being. It fell sideways onto the stone floor, and she drove the tip of the pillar into its chest, candles and all. It writhered for a moment, trying to escape, and then, a powerful force shot through the pillar, pushing Cazoa backwards. She landed on the floor, and in the time that it took for the spirit to rise and remove the pillar, she had composed herself and drawn her pistols. She fired into the being's translucent legs and they crippled against the burns, slowing it's advance. The brief break in speed allowed Cazoa to guide the pistols to it's head. With one final shriek, the spirit fell to the floor and dissipated into the air.

Cazoa heard a hysterically maddened laugh come from the other end of the room.

'Now you face ME, girl!'

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

Alone the odds were stacked against Cyril. Experienced though he might be, numbers tended to win out against raw skill. There were only so many places his blade could be at any given time, and each of the four specters moved of their own accord. He flowed through the familiar motions of Soresu, a defensive form he had learned to master at a very young age. It served him well as he blocked, countered, and parried blows from multiple opponents. While his movements were designed to minimize fatigue, the constant battering the specters gave him was beginning to leave him fatigues. Any time he found an opening with one of them, another stepped in to block his strike. He was making little progress.

The Cazoa joined the fray. Alone, she had dealt with two of the ethereal beings. She'd gone on to end the existence of a third, and more importantly, break the concentration of their opponents. Cyril took advantage of the momentary lapse in focus. His blade bisected one of the specters from shoulder to hip. The being screamed as its body faded to nothingness, but Cyril paid it no mind. He had already whirled on its counterpart and gripped it with the force. A simple expulsion of energy shattered the being into dust.

The third almost lopped off his head. Cyril managed to duck under the strike just as it sailed over him, slicing through the air he had occupied just seconds earlier. Taking advantage of the moment, he thrust his blade upward, through the warrior's chest and out his back. It took but a few mere moments before the body of the warrior ceased to exist.

That left the voice's avatar. Cyril whirled on it - the being had begun to march toward Cazoa, lightsaber raised to bisect her in two.

Calling upon the force, Cyril rushed to meet the monster. Its power granted new strength to his limbs and let him move faster than any human should. Just as its crimson blade fell, Cyril brought his cyan one upward. The two weapons interlocked, and Cyril pressed forward with all his strength. The specter did the same, leaving them in a stalemate.

"Trying to save the girl?" It hissed.

"Succeeding actually." Cyril challenged. He shoved his shoulder into the being, forcing it to stumble. Not missing a beat, he charged forward, his blade repeatedly crashing against his retreating opponent's own, looking for an opening. He could not find one, but his opponent was losing ground. Soon his back would be against the wall.

"So sure of yourself."

Lightning arced forth from its fingertips. Cyril held up a hand, catching the emerald veins of energy in his palm. The effort was taxing and dreadfully painful, but he stood his ground. It was all he could muster not to falter.

"It is not arrogance that guides me, but wisdom. I know you can't win this." He chided.

The two remained that way, interlocked in a battle of their mastery over the force.

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Cazoa remained on the floor, catching her breath, as Cyril rushed forward to meet the spirit. It's guards had been dealt with, and their master was all that stood in the way of freedom. She stood and aimed her blasters at the spirit, searching for a break in the stalemate. The pair whirled back and forth in a test of power - it was impossible for her to find a clean shot that wouldn't hit Cyril.

The spirit sent forth a stream of lightning from its fingertips. Cazoa watched in horror as the emerald streaks plummeted towards Cyril. Anger welled inside of her followed by an intense desperation to protect him. Almost as quickly as the lightning came from the spirit's fingertips, it looked to be absorbed by Cyril's palm.

Cazoa filled herself in the force, searching herself for any way to aid him. The pair resumed their duel. A brief vision came to Cazoa - Cyril sending a blast of force energy towards the guard, which had made them falter. Perhaps if she could do the same, it would give Cyril the opportunity to put an end to this battle. Cazoa focused, flexing the force inside of her. She remembered how she had felt when her father had threatened her master - the sensations that had caused the blaster to be flung from his hand.

She focused - the most prominent emotion being anger - and it began to form a swirling vortex in her core. The need to protect Cyril sent the vortex forth, and as it left her body, she guided it with her minds eye to the spirit. She heard a shocked shriek ring out through the chamber as she felt the orb of energy come into contact with somebody. Cazoa opened her eyes.

The spirit had stepped back for a split second, it's lightsaber raised frozen in mid swing. The impact of her ball of energy had been weak, but perhaps enough to give Cyril the window of opportunity he needed. With the last of her energy, Cazoa raised a pistol and guided it to the spirit's hand. She began to fire at it, the lightsaber shuddering at the impact.

'End him!' she shouted at Cyril.

Her body felt drained by the use of the force - her legs shook as she tried to remain upright.

[member="Graxin Rade"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

He drew in a deep breath. The force was guiding him. It extended from the core of his being out to his limbs and extremities. Its power was electric - some would say euphoric. The mark upon Cyril's face began to shimmer and itch, the faintest flex of a crimson sun forming along its lines. He muttered a quiet prayer under his breath to abate the accursed mark's deadly influence.

The shade had come to end him, but Cazoa had seen fit to halt its strikes. It shouted profanities and screamed so loud that the very walls began to shake. Cyril did not waver. He raised his lightsaber high. and brought it down toward the shade's head. The eldritch thing managed to block the lightsaber, but not before a blaster bolt caught it in the back.

It screamed again.

Cyril advantage of the moment. With invisible fingers he reached out to the demon. His will wrapped around it and crushed inward. Had it been mortal, its bones would have popped. As it was, the thing was hounded by boundless pain, roaring in agony as its very spirit was ripped apart by Cyril's ethereal power. The master furrowed his brow and pressed harder, and then the beast began to break.

Its limbs popped like wood on a bonfire. Its jaw fell away and drifted into dust. Its very heart burst within its ungodly form. Yellow monstrous eyes shifted between Cyril, then Cazoa, before its entire body was enveloped in the miniature dust storm. A moment later and all was silent.

It took all his power not to drop the lightsaber. He flicked off the blade and stumbled over to Cazoa, his limbs drained of all energy. On the last step he stumbled; catching himself just a foot away from her.

"We did it," he sighed, "The demon is beaten." His gaze shifted to a pedestal at the end of the chamber. Had that been there before?

"You saved me Cazoa," he looked up to meet her eyes, "I owe you a great debt."

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Cazoa slunk to her knees after the draining outburst of the force she had sent flying to the ghostly being. She raised her pistol in a last ditch effort to aid Cyril in the destruction of their assailant, but as she looked through the scope, the translucent being froze in its place, yellow eyes darting between them. The eyes were wide with defeat. Cazoa watched as it’s body began to combust, each limb cracking by an unseen pressure. Then with one last cackling howl, it crumbled into a pile of dust on the floor.

The chamber fell silent. Cazoa looked around, expecting more of the guards to emerge from the darkness, but nothing came. Her legs wobbled beneath her as she stood to her feet, watching Cyril stumble to her. His pale face looked drained in the dim light, and his hands shook.

‘We did it,’ he said softly. ‘The demon is beaten.’ Cazoa parted her lips, trying to find any kind of words to speak, but all her efforts were poured into standing upright. ‘You saved me Cazoa,’ he continued, looking into her eyes. ‘I owe you a great debt.’

A life debt? He had saved her from the beasts back at the ship, and without him she would be stranded and dead on this Moon already, if anything her life was indebted to him. Cazoa’s eyes softened as they met his.

‘You owe me nothing,’ she whispered, her voice weak.

She found it hard to look into his eyes even more so since the visions they had encountered. What did he think of her memory? And was what followed the memory really their future? Which path would they take? Would she even allow for their futures to intertwine as it was shown to them? Would he? Something told her that it wasn’t up to them. They would be together no matter what path they chose. Later would be the time to process. They might still be in danger.

She followed Cyril’s gaze to the pedestal in the centre of the chamber.

‘What is that?’ she asked softly. Atop the pedestal was something shiny reflecting the torchlight. She felt little tugs in the force, calling her towards the object, and in her minds eye came forth a flashing image of the jewel that Balzo had left to her.

Cazoa returned her pistols to the holsters on her belt, and shakily stepped toward the pedestal.

 

[Placeholder 04]

Cyril was ready to be rid of this place. There could be little good from old temples such as these. The spirit had been a formidable opponent, but Cyril had been around enough of these kind of sites to know there was more danger lurking in the shadows. Still, for the moment he felt nothing, and so he allowed himself to relax somewhat as Cazoa pushed up to her feet.

"You owe me nothing."

He furrowed his brow as their eyes met. She was practically shining in the force now. Her aura was a striking one; her actions like great waves in a tumultuous sea rather than simple ripples. The temple had opened her to the force in ways he never could have. In quiet awe, he followed behind the woman toward the pedestal. What he saw gave him pause.

The various pieces of a weapon he knew quite well were strewn across the pedestal's sandstone surface. Their gleam drew the eye; the color of the metal was all too telling.

"The spirits have given you a gift for passing their test," he spoke through a thin smile, "The tools you need to create a lightsaber. It seems the they chose you well." A hint of amusement laced his words as he took his place by the woman's side.

He watched her with veiled curiosity. He had seen the visions just as she had: of the future intended for them down one path or the other. She was a good woman. Witty and on the determined side. Capable too. He hadn't had such thoughts about another living person since Cyrene's death, and yet here Cazoa was.

She seemed to glow like a goddess. The force bowed to her command and the temple itself seemed to bow in reverence. His mouth went dry, but he could not bear to look away.

"It's yours Cazoa," he gestured to the myriad parts, "You're stronger than most I've come across and you've never been trained. I'd say you're a prodigy."

He paused, his lips parting but his words failing him. After a short time he managed to gather himself. "Take it. The galaxy might might implode if you don't."

He flashed her a half-smile.

[member="CazoaMani"]

 

[GreenEve]

Cazoa could feel Cyril’s eyes on her as she looked down at the lightsaber parts atop the dusty pedestal. Her mind wondered over destiny – how things seemed to click into place, like the Galaxy was all knowing, placing her in consecutive circumstances that all seemed to link together. If Balzo had still been alive, she wouldn’t have been desperate for work, and not taken this job on the Moon; she wouldn’t have met Cyril, and she would still be in denial of the force. Now, a whole new destiny lay before her, one she had had glimpses into moments ago, one that was much greater than she could ever have imagined for herself.

Cazoa touched the metal lightsaber pieces with a fingertip, tracing the cool metal, while destiny spoke to her.

"Take it. The galaxy might might implode if you don't." The gentle humour in Cyril’s voice bought her back from her trance-like state. Cazoa looked up at him with searching eyes.

She knew if she picked up the weapon, she would be on her way to one of the paths the spirit had shown to them. And if she didn’t, she would most likely spend the rest of her life in a shroud of unhappiness, floating from job to job with no real purpose. In Cyril’s eyes, she found comfort, safety, and trust in his intentions to never lead her to harm. It was if the force spoke to her from him, filling her with trust and certainty. The quiet softness of his voice in the vast chamber created an electric sensation inside of her, reaching to each of her limbs, and making the hairs on her skin stand on end. Despite all the turmoil that had occurred since entering the temple, Cyril still remained, strong, like nothing else existed.

For a fleeting moment, Cazoa couldn’t help but to let her eyes fall to his perfectly sculptured lips, curiously longing for them on her own. An emotional storm raged inside of her, pulling her this way and that. Yet as quickly as it had arrived, she suppressed it, letting out a soft sigh and returning her eyes to the lightsaber as her face flushed. She wrapped her fingers around the parts and tucked them into the leather bag on her back.

Words were hard to find after the exhausting trials that they had been put through – she could barely keep herself upright. Instead of saying perhaps the right thing that the moment called for, she chose to draw any attention away from the trials and her embarrassing glance to Cyril’s lips.

‘This place is nothing but darkness’ she said, trying to keep her voice from failing to an exhausted whisper. ‘It’s hard to suppress after all that has happened. I can feel it all around me.’ She practiced flexing it from her limbs. ‘The canyon entrance we were headed to, perhaps it would be safer to rest the night out there?’